


Sleep is for Sarcophagi

by nocturnalboys



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation, Trans Character, i think Hakuryuu curses once or twice hence the warning, really just cute and self indulgent, sappy and gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 23:31:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9351284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnalboys/pseuds/nocturnalboys
Summary: Hakuryuu found museums to be comforting. They reminded him of times past; the world he'd left behind, and the love he had lost all those years ago. Was it strange to feel nostalgia among ancient artifacts?





	

Hakuryuu picked up a book, glossy pages of things half-remembered staring up at him. Murals of gods and spirits and demons paraded across the smooth paper, blue skin, elaborate headdresses, four or sometimes six arms held in delicate position. Examining the Art of Mauryan India the typeset on the cover read in bold; not the memories of djinn Hakuryuu was grasping for like spider’s thread in the back of his mind. 

Nothing had come gradually. There was no puzzle of recalled scraps to pore over, no edges to assemble. One night Hakuryuu had gone to sleep marginally content with his life and the next morning when he woke, the world around him meant nothing. Though what he saw could have been mistaken for a long and intensive dream, he knew every second of it was true, from the first lucid images of his young self, to pain, to hate, to friendship, and finally love. 

It had been like watching a movie he had starred in, except he was chained to his reclining seat and nothing about it made sense. But when he woke, it was his room, the life he had led for 18, going on 19 years that felt like a sick joke. Even the color of the walls felt oppressively wrong, and worst of all, where was Judal?

He’d tasted the name softly, speaking it aloud. It felt like a curse on his tongue, but a spell cast in the air. Confusion smothered Hakuryuu’s senses, and worse than the phantom pains he fought off from time to time, the loneliness that crushed him into his mattress was as though he had severed a conjoined twin from his side. 

Museums made him feel almost home. Almost, but not quite. The art and legends from ages past were only half the story of what Hakuryuu had seen that night, but they soothed him nonetheless. It was quiet in the gift shop that day; it wasn’t the most popular place to pay a visit at eight pm on a Wednesday, it seemed. He had extra pocket money, so why not treat himself to a present? He placed the book back down on the table, moving around to the other side. Familiar scenes reached out to him. Almost, but not quite.

Judal had been the final straw. He had a confidant, in that once upon a time, a being of pure chaos at his side, a friend turned into more, a partner in the war they had waged. Just the two of them. His own death, the memory of actually dying, was a drop in the ocean of pain remembering Judal’s final moments had brought onto him like a world-ending flood. In retrospect, he had gone through the stages of grief in his present life. Day one, he had gone to excessive means to stop himself from taking the past seriously. How could that ever have been his life? If it was not real, then Judal’s death, no, his whole existence was a lie. 

This turned to rage. A burning sense of unfairness, of why him, why couldn’t they have overcome the tumult of war side by side? If he had been something more, just tried a little harder, done this or that in a different way, Judal would surely have lived. For weeks, Hakuryuu had drifted around in his own life like a ghost. 

But things had changed again, for the better this time, when Hakuryuu took the wrong train back to campus one Summer night. He had been distracted, of course. Resigning himself to the long and arduous journey ahead of him, he had sunk onto a seat beside a napping girl wearing an oversized pink raincoat.

Not just any girl. Her hair was only dyed red at the tips, worn up in a bun like a ball of yarn, but the charms on the phone case clutched in her hands, the odd choice of clothing and the point of his sister’s nose popped out at him like details in an I-Spy puzzle.

They must have seemed so odd, hugging and crying on the train like that, long separated-relatives though they were. Kougyoku was not her name in this world, but she gave him permission to call her by it anyway. Hakuryuu would always be his name, he explained, because he had an affinity for it. He would always choose it. It’s lucky though, she had burst out, that being who you are is easier in this world than our own! She was happy he was safe. Happy she had found him once again.

Kougyoku had some choice words for him too, words that bit and stung like blue flies under a low sun. He had taken those bravely. But by the end of the night, it occurred to him that Judal, too, might be wandering somewhere, looking for him. 

In another corner of the gift shop, Hakuryuu discovered a book of Chinese scroll prints he quite liked. The nostalgia was refreshing. He cradled it with his prosthetic, taking his time, tracing his fingers over faint inky mountains and flowering gardens, over women with faces like the moon, over flowering peach trees that made him feel weak in a thousand ways.

He decided to buy it. He could stop by Kougyoku’s and share it with her later. By his estimates, he could get one more present and be safely within budget. He wandered back onto the floor, browsing racks of sculptures in miniature, famous paintings copied and laminated and rolled up in tubes. Tapestries draped over a railing vaguely reminded him of Aladdin’s turban; he might have chosen one if they didn’t weigh in at three hundred dollars a piece. 

Pausing, he examined a pre-framed poster of Starry Night. It reminded him faintly of Judal, the way all the colors swirled, the sense of beauty even once daylight had passed away. Of course, all art reminded him of Judal. Judal was art. 

“Excuse me? Do you work here? See, I was just looking at the prices and to be honest, they don’t seem set to me? If you would just lower that mug from fifteen to ten I think we can call it a deal.”   
The voice was directed towards him, that was for certain. But only one person Hakuryuu knew would try to haggle with a store worker over something that was only 15 dollars to start with. There was only one person like that. Praying this wasn’t just another vibrant dream, Hakuryuu turned from the painting to face the source of the voice. He would have recognized that face from a mile away; perfect eyeshadow, perfect fishtail braid over one shoulder, features which focused abruptly with realization. 

“No. I’m sorry, I don’t work here.” Hakuryuu could barely speak. It was him. He could feel it. Suddenly, he was choked with fear. What if Judal didn’t remember him? What if, to Judal, he was just another person, just another stranger?

The fear washed away, pulled downstream through his mind once Judal reopened his mouth. “Are you sure? I could really use a deal on this mug. See, there’s this guy I love, and I haven’t seen him in a while, and this one seems right up his alley. You know, for when we meet again.” He grinned up at him, knowingly. “Hey Hakuryuu, did you miss me or something? You’re making a weird face.”

Hakuryuu didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he did neither. He rushed for Judal, a magnetism in his core pulling ever stronger until he landed in his arms. Judal did most of the crying and laughing for him, and the world stood still for what felt like hours as he buried his face in Judal’s shoulder and let himself breathe deeply for the first time in three years. 

“We have so much time now.” Hakuryuu managed to say without letting tears slip. Not yet. “I can’t believe- I found you- It took so long and we-.” He had to keep stopping himself, forcing the bubble of emotion back down in his throat. 

Judal just happened to be at the museum that evening because he had missed an assignment at art school, and had been told to return to the galleries on his own time to work on sketching sculptures. When Hakuryuu could speak without the threat of crying, they walked together to the register, Judal holding his hand as tightly as he could. 

“You still love me?” Hakuryuu asked, hesitantly, as they climbed the main stairs towards the second floor. Amid the soft echos of speech from distant parts of the hall, Judal answered. 

“You’re the same Hakuryuu, aren’t you? You’re the same man from back then. I see this as like… picking up where we left off. Except without all the dying. I still love you.” Anxiety crossed his face, sharply. “And you? How do you feel about me?”

Hakuryuu stopped halfway between two steps, his hand tightening in Judal’s. Picking up where they left off. Only in his wildest fantasies had he let himself imagine finding him again, and now that he had, he was taken completely off guard. Judal was right; he was, essentially, still himself, and Judal? There was no one else like him. No one at all. “I…” He felt his face warm, until he could not meet Judal’s eyes. “I’ve been in love with you all this time. And now here you are again. I think you know the answer to that.”

Judal took that opportunity to kiss him so fiercely he was afraid of losing balance and tumbling down the whole flight of stairs. 

“I think we have some quality time to spend with each other now, thank you very much.” Judal gently pushed Hakuryuu back, fingers splayed on his chest. “What are you doing here, anyway? I already told you my reason.”

Hakuryuu recovered, resolving to at least finish climbing the stairs before kissing Judal a second time. “Coming to museums like this makes me all nostalgic. Some of the art and artifacts are so similar to things we had in our time, it’s like if I can immerse myself in it I’ll be able to go back there.”

“Have you been to this one before?”

“Yes, twice.”

“Why don’t you show me all your favorite spots? The ones that make you feel the best? And I can knock out this project while I’m at it.”

Hakuryu couldn’t help laughing. “Of course you’re an art student. I didn’t expect anything else out of you.”

“Are you in college? What are you going for?”

“... fine arts degree.”

Judal laughed. “You have no room to judge me! And that explains your dorky outfit. What’s on your feet, Ryuu? Are those moccasins?”

“They’re boater shoes? And this is coming from a guy who refused to wear footwear ever. I don’t even think you owned shoes.” Hakuryuu scoffed, lightly.

They had two hours before closing time, and Hakuryuu wanted to use every second. Judal was unimpressed by the Roman statues. “Why did they break their dicks off? They were fine before!” He grieved, wincing anew each time they passed a castrated marble figure.

“Speaking of dicks, have you seen Sinbad around? I would’ve thought he’d be a celebrity, or something flashy and loud…” Hakuryuu sighed. “Besides you, I’ve only come across Kougyoku. Do you think it’s odd that he hasn’t stuck out to me from anywhere yet?”

It took Judal a fair amount of time to form a proper answer. “I mean… don’t you think if you can remember them, we all learn from our mistakes? He’s here, somewhere in this world, but he’s playing the game differently this time around. Like, this is his chance to grow, if that makes sense. Maybe he’s just taking this opportunity to live quietly and happily, or something.”

In a bizarre way, that thought warmed Hakuryuu’s heart. “You’re right. I hope he has learned. We… we all deserve it.” They passed by a stone carving, young men and old in togas, portions of legs and heads scuffed away by age. “What about… the Magi of Reim? Titus? Did he make it here?” He sighed, answering his own question. “No, he did. I’m sure he did.”

In quiet galleries of glassware and porcelain, American and European antiques, it was secluded enough that Hakuryuu could allow Judal to kiss the breath out of him. No one was coming there, and not at that hour. When he finally had to breathe, he rested his forehead against Judal’s, dragging down lungfuls of air. “I missed that. Some things never change.”

Judal suddenly looked incredibly smug. “Yeah, but other things do.” He took Hakuryuu’s hand, guiding it underneath his crop top so he could feel the twin scars on his chest. 

Reverently, Hakuryuu ran his thumb along one line of puckered tissue. “I never knew a scar could be so beautiful,” he murmured, “is it bad that I’m jealous? I haven’t gotten this far yet.”

“Ryuu, be jealous all you want, because I know it’ll happen for you too.” Judal kissed the place just under Hakuryuu’s ear, and he could feel that he was smiling. “I promise.”

Hakuryuu’s absolute favorite exhibit was the Nepal and Himalayas gallery. It was silent but for the slight creaks of the floorboards, larger-than-life statues lit by single spotlight beams in the darkness, so they emerged like omens from the night. “Look, up.” He whispered. “The whole ceiling is transplanted. Doesn’t it feel like a dungeon?”

Judal examined the dome above, details kaleidoscoping up and up into darkness. Lost for words, he squeezed Hakuryuu’s hand, nodding. Beside them, a four armed deity looked on, pupil-less eyes watching through millennia eternally. 

In the ancient China exhibit, there was a moon viewing court, built quite authentically, the curved glass ceiling giving way to the star-speckled cosmos. Judal sighed, turning a slow circle. “Now this. This feels like home. Can’t we just stay here forever?”

It finally clicked in Hakuryuu’s mind that he was watching a happy Judal, a living, present Judal, and it struck him deeply that the last time he’d seen him, he’d been lowering him into a shallow grave. “Wait.” He croaked, grabbing for his hand again. “Judal, I’m sorry.” He clung tighter than ever, everything shaky. 

“Wait, sorry for what?” Judal blinked, resting a hand on his back, steadying. “Last time I checked, you don’t have a single thing to be sorry for.”

“I failed you!” He burst out. “I let him kill you. When you… It was no one’s fault but mine and I need you to know how fucking sorry I am. I told you not to die. I-” He cut himself off, a painful sound like broken glass wrenching itself from his lungs. 

“You know I didn’t even think of blaming you. Not one single time. My last memory is you, I just remember thinking how happy I was that I could see you again before it ended. And then I went to the rukh, I guess… It gets fuzzy.” He was quieter than Hakuryuu had ever heard him speak before. “Don’t you dare worry about what happened, because if anybody’s sorry, it’s me, for leaving you alone.”

Hakuryuu bunched his fingers in Judal’s shirt, nodding. “I know. And that’s not your fault either. Just, don’t ever do that to me again, please. I’ll beg.”

Judal kissed his forehead. “Anything for you. When this place closes, where are you going?”

“Home.” Before Judal could make protest, he tilted his face up. “You are my home. I’m going with you.”

Judal grinned, more luminous than the moon, his eyeteeth crooked and lovely as ever. “Really?”

“I don’t want to be anywhere else. Certainly not tonight.”

Before leaving, they walked through the Egyptian hall, the painted eyes of things long-buried watching them enviously.


End file.
